


Backstory

by The_Advocate



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Gen, Obsidian Order, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 10:16:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21444604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Advocate/pseuds/The_Advocate
Summary: This is my theory on why Garak was exiled. It pulls ideas from everything Garak says on "The Wire" episode and combines it into a cohesive story.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	Backstory

Most of the time Garak was very aware of his actions- cold and calculating- but there were times of weakness that lead to indiscretion. That was how he had gotten exiled after all, a moment of weakness. Well, actually, that was something Tain and Bashir disagreed on wholeheartedly. In fact, when Garak had recounted a version of the story to him, the doctor had seemed oddly proud. The Cardassian would never understand the Federation and its standards.

Garak had- especially since that device had been shut off from his brain- spent several long nights going over that particular tale in his mind, looking at each one of his mistakes, and just regretting. He should have known better, done better.

***

It was freezing. If he had had any say in the matter, the interrogation would have been on board a starship or a space station or a ground base or anywhere civilized, but no. Everything was simply too far away for the transport of the prisoners to be prudent, so here he was sitting in a rickety Bajoran hovel, with frigid wind blowing through the old wooden slats.

But no matter, he thought as he straightened in the only chair the house had to offer, he would quickly extract the information and be on his way. Garak smiled absently, imagining his options for dinner. Now that he thought of it, he was quite hungry as well as cold.

There was a sharp rap on the door.

“Enter.”

It opened, and two Bajorans were flung inside. A third one quickly followed, but managed to avoid the Cardassian soldier's shove.

The soldier stepped just inside the room and stood at attention, phaser at his side. He leaned subtly toward the outside as though preparing to bolt. Garak wasn’t particularly surprised; most in the military had similar reactions to the Obsidian Order. 

“Everything in order, sir?” he asked, his voice sharp and abrupt.

“Yes. You may leave,” Garak replied pleasantly.

“Yes, sir, and just so you know, the rest of the squad and I will be in the area, but not-”

“I think I can handle three-” he shot a glance over at the prisoners, all of whom were quite young, “-unarmed children on my own.”

The soldier nodded stiffly and exited.

Garak turned his attention to his new subjects. Calling them children really wasn’t an exaggeration. The oldest one- a painfully thin, bony boy- couldn’t have been more than thirteen or fourteen years old. And now that he thought of it, the reason the soldier did not fully enter the room may have been due to the smell. It radiated off of them, the scent of unwashed skin, dry blood, and rot. It was the stench of violence and neglect. Their eyes were sunken and cheeks hollow. Garak noticed in particular how small the youngest was. Her prominent collarbone stuck out sharply from her torn shirt. Admittedly, he couldn’t see much else of the girl because of the tangle of greasy, black curls that fell in front of her face.

Garak’s gut twisted in disgust and, though he couldn’t admit it even to himself, pity.

Reflexively sizing them up, he decided that pain and fear would be the most effective means of torture, but he sat frozen, his body not responding to his brain. This involuntary hesitation was infuriating! It wasn’t as if this was his first time interrogating someone young or broken, far from it. Bajoran terrorists came in all shapes and sizes.

That’s when sense clicked back into his mind. These were terrorists suspected of having information on a hidden weapons depot. They were threats to Cardassia, no matter their outward appearance.

Garak rose suddenly from his chair, causing all three of them to shy backwards. He pretended not to notice.

“This is what is going to happen. I will ask you a series of questions on the location and capacity of a weapons depot that we know is in the area. You will respond truthfully. Whether or not that involves pain is up to you.”

More pain that is, he mentally corrected himself. These children clearly had already had more than their fair share of suffering.

“We don’t know anything,” spat the younger boy, “Do you really think they would tell us anything like that? We’re just kids.”

“Kori,” the older boy hushed him. His black-brown eyes traveled slowly up to meet Garak’s, “We really don’t know anything, but you should know we wouldn’t tell you even if we did.”

Garak stared back unwaveringly. The bravado was false, obviously, the poor boy was about to shake to pieces, but the words? They were true. Garak could spot a lie a lightyear away and this was not it. But still, best be thorough.

“Is this true?” he directed his attention to the girl.

She jumped at being addressed directly and fixed her wide eyes on the ground.

“She doesn’t talk,” growled the younger boy as he anxiously pushed his shock of red hair out of a cut just above his eyebrow.

At that point Garak gave in. This wasn’t an interrogation and these children were not a threat. They were hungry and tired and cold and so was he. All he wanted to do was go home, have a good meal, and sit in a Cardassian sauna for a very long time. There was no point to sitting here all night, prying at information that simply was not there.

Garak turned from the children and tiredly rubbed at the ridge above his eye. What to do?

Abruptly he spun back around and the three simultaneously flinched.

“You,” he gestured to the oldest boy, “You take care of these two?”

“Y-yes,” he stuttered in surprise.

“Alright,” he muttered under his breath, as he reached inside his pockets.

He didn’t normally carry much latinum with him, but today. . . Ah, yes. He pulled out a  
couple of slips and strips of latinum.

“Here.”

When the boy did not automatically take it, Garak grabbed his hand and wrapped his fingers around the money.

“Take this and go. The street should still be clear for a little longer, then you can blend in with the rest of the Bajorans. And you- Kori, isn’t it?- I can fix that cut.”

Garak rushed over to his bag and pulled out a medical tricorder. Normally, it was used to heal injuries so that they could be re-inflicted, but today was not a typical day.

“It is already halfway healed so there isn’t much we can do about scarring, but it won’t get infected this way at least.”

Kori was too surprised to recoil when the Cardassian brought the tricorder up to his head. Garak was thankful. The more they acted like this was normal, the easier it was to do.

“There. It’s healed. Now, quickly,” Garak moved to the door and covertly peered out. It was clear of all military; they must have moved to another section of the town. “Go and never, never, speak of this to anyone.”

The children stood frozen on the other side of the room, until finally the oldest said, “Why are you doing this? Helping us?”

“Helping you?” Garak smiled mischievously, “I don’t know what you mean. You three very cleverly escaped. I’m to blame for underestimating you because of your youth.”

Kori, seeming to suddenly realize that they really were going to be set free, bounded forward, dragging the other two with him.

“Who cares, Bines? We’ve gotta go!”

They were nearly out the door when Garak reached out a hand to Bines’ arm, halting him. He looked steadfastly up at the Cardassian. The resolve etched into his young features was impressive, even to Garak.

“You can never breathe a word of this, not to anyone. It will have fatal consequences for all of us. Do you understand?”

Bines nodded once and promptly left. Garak prayed he would never see him again, but as fate would have it, it didn’t really matter in the end. 

***

Garak spent the next few weeks scrambling. He may be a master of deception, but so was every other member of the Order.

Originally, he had thought the incident would go unnoticed. What were three Bajoran adolescents in the grand scheme of things? Nothing. That is, until they escape confinement and manage to kill the child of a Gul, which somehow, they had. Garak’s blood had frozen when the news had first reached his ears. He had been so certain that there would be no consequences, that it did not matter, but before he knew it the entire Obsidian Order had been whipped into a frenzy looking for the traitor that had released the dangerous Bajoran terrorists.

Garak was in the midst of amassing false evidence to plant on one of his fellow agents, he had yet to decide whom, when Enabran Tain contacted him. He opened the encoded subspace transmission, and what he read nearly made his heart stop.

“New information regarding the escape of the Bajoran prisoners. All agents come in immediately.”

Garak shot up from his chair, sending it toppling backwards. New information? What new information? How could they possibly have new information? Even if they had recaptured the children, they did not know enough to incriminate him. They did not even know his name.

Wait- that was right. No one had enough information to incriminate him. The only person who knew all the details of that wretched night was himself.

Garak took a deep breath and righted the fallen chair. The guilt hanging over his conscience was making him irrational and willing to jump to conclusions. That was never a good thing.

Garak sat back down at the desk and steepled his hands together in front of his face. Tensions were running high in both the military and the Obsidian Order. The most likely scenario was that someone had panicked and come forward with a false lead. They may even have decided to use the strained situation to fulfil a personal vendetta, as Garak was planning to do. Whatever it was, it certainly was nothing to panic over. All he needed was a plan.

He would go to this meeting, promptly. If accused, he would bring out his faked evidence and use it against someone else. If not, he would speak to Tain after the meeting and implicate someone then. Yes.

His mind was calming down, creating a plan and thinking comforting, logical thoughts. The rest of his body, however, hadn’t caught up yet. Garak’s heart pounded out of control, a tremor ran down his spine, and he could feel the blood leaving his face.

He was split in two. His love of Cardassia and guilt pulling away from his sense of self preservation and training. The longer he sat alone at his lie-covered desk, the less he felt like Elim Garak and the more he felt like Elim and Garak; Elim-the highly efficient, professional agent- and Garak-the pathetic idiot who had aided the escape of prisoners. His life, his mind, his identity, everything was falling apart.

***

Years afterward, Garak would compare his experience to a human story Bashir had recommended to him, The Tell-Tale Heart. His heart beat viciously against his ribs as he smiled and lied all the way to the meeting point.

Twelve hours after receiving Tain’s message found Garak standing around a table aboard Tain’s ship as other Obsidian Order members trickled in. They too were nervous; Garak could practically taste it on the air. This was good. It meant that his discomfort would be less obvious to the unexpectant eye. No matter how hopeless Garak felt, he still had a fighting chance when it came down to his word against another’s; Tain would trust him. Wouldn’t he?

The hiss of opening doors announced Enabran Tain’s arrival. They all froze, holding themselves at attention until- “This is all of us.You may be seated.”

They all took a place surrounding the table- Tain at the head and Garak directly to his right. Elim stared imperiously down at his colleagues as was his usual custom, but this time with a motive beyond intimidation. Elim had yet to choose a scapegoat for his crime. He had not meant to wait this long to pick a target, but no matter, now he would be able to see who was the most rattled, the weakest.

“As you know, the military has been left scrambling after the escape of three Bajoran prisoners who, upon their flight, killed the son of Gul Dravin. And, as usual, they have seen fit to call upon us to solve their problems for them.”

A couple of agents up and down the table cracked patronizing smiles at this.

“And solve them we will,” he continued, “Yesterday, the Bajoran escapees were recaptured.”

During his early years with the Order, this revelation would have been sufficient to make Garak flip the table and take off running, but he was better now. Elim was in control.

“They indicated that they were briefly questioned and then released into the open, by a Cardassian male. Knowing they were released by their interrogator narrows the number of suspects down to nine.”

Nine. There were eleven men in the Obsidian Order. Obviously, Tain had excluded himself, but who else?

“I will, of course, be entrusting the interrogations of each male agent to Garak-”

Something about that voice, saying his name, perhaps the way it commanded authority or the fact that so many a time it had caught him in wrongdoing, loosened Garak’s tightly clenched jaw.

“Yes,” Garak interrupted, his lips moving without knowledge or consent, “It was me.”

Dead silence followed his murmured confession. Garak stared straight ahead, over the shoulder of the agent across from him, at the cold blank wall, but it didn’t matter. He could feel Tain’s freezing eyes burning into him. The other operatives gaped at him, shocked by the courage or stupidity that had gripped their second in command. It appeared that Elim had managed to pick out the weakest from around the table after all.

“Everyone out,” Tain spoke very softly, in a voice that Garak had known to fear since childhood. 

No one needed telling twice. A sudden scraping of chairs and rush to the door were the sounds that accompanied the most agonizing ten seconds of Garak’s life.

Tain stood as the last person lept through the doorway and began to pace behind Garak’s chair. Garak couldn’t move, could barely think. He hadn’t been this afraid since . . . since before he could remember. He tried to take a calming breath, but his lungs had stopped functioning. Were the walls getting closer?

“You, Garak,” Tain spat, “You couldn’t manage to extract information from three frightened children? Pathetic.”

Tain stopped his pacing and put one hand on the back of Garak’s chair, while the other gripped the table, trapping him.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, traitor,” he snarled, his face inches away from Garak’s.

Garak blinked and slowly turned his head, finally breaking his staring contest with the wall. Unfortunately, he still lacked the strength to speak out in his own defense. Elim had completely shut down.

“I didn’t think you had it in you to betray Cardassia like this.”

That awoke Garak from his torpor. “Betray Cardassia?” he exclaimed incredulously, “I did not betray Cardassia!”

Tain’s fist slammed down on the table, causing Garak to jump- something he had not done since he was a teenager.

“You betrayed both Cardassia and me the moment you entertained the very thought of letting those Bajorans go.”

“‘Those Bajorans’ were children! They were not a threat to anyone,” Garak was yelling now, fear momentarily forgotten.

“Only to the Gul’s son, it would seem.”

Garak opened his mouth, but had nothing to say. Tain was right; he had failed. Deep down he had known that from the start. It was why he could not lie his way out of this one, and moreover, why he had confessed.

The older agent left his side, going to stand before the sole window in the room. Garak put his head in his hands and closed his eyes, trying to compose himself, trying to bring Elim to the surface.

“You will be tried for treason. The sentence will be exile, death if you attempt to rejoin with Cardassia on any of its planets or colonies,” Tain finally spoke.

“Exile?” Garak whispered hoarsely, somehow that was worse than anything he had been expecting, “No. You can’t. Please. Cardassia is-”

“Your home,” Tain finished for him, “Yes, well, that is rather the point.”

Garak stood, beseechingly, “I can do better. Torture me. Put me in a box, anything. I’ll never fail you again, just give me a chance.” Tain said nothing. Garak moved around the table, so that Tain would be forced to look at him. “This is me speaking as your son, your son. Don’t do this, anything but this. Please,” his voice cracked.

Tain looked back coolly. He didn’t shy from eye contact as he said, quite calmly, “I do not have a son. I have never had a son.”

The force of those two simple sentences crashed down on Garak with such force that he stumbled back a step. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes and he knew he was done. Elim Garak was beaten and utterly alone.

***

The trial was brief and brutal. He had no nestor, Tain had selected the smallest holding cell available, and the total time elapsed couldn’t have been more than thirty-six hours from the time of his confession to being dumped on the evacuating Terok Nor. The only redeeming factor of the trial was that it was not broadcasted to all of Cardassia. The Obsidian Order prefered to stay shadowed from the public, especially when dealing with its own.

After arriving on Terok Nor, Garak did his best to stay out of Gul Dukat’s sight, with a fair amount of success. Dukat was aware of his presence, Garak was sure of it, but the Gul was simply too busy with the retraction of his troops from Bajor to stop by and torment him. With that, Elim Garak began his life as an exiled tailor, the only Cardassian living aboard Deep Space Nine.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope ya'll enjoyed! If you think it went down differently, or I missed something, please comment. This is one of my favorite topics to discuss and I'm genuinely curious.


End file.
